


Negotiations

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (Dallas 2014)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Alien/Human Relationships, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Aliens, First Kiss, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Seine, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-04 16:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20474345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Valjean licked his lips, considering. "Would you let me see you?" he asked at last, his stomach tight once more."Will you spread those smooth human legs for me?" Javert asked in return, his lips still curled with irony and want.





	Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iberiandoctor (Jehane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jehane/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12428499) by [iberiandoctor (Jehane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jehane/pseuds/iberiandoctor). 

Javert came to him later that night, as Valjean had thought he would when he had given up his address in the Élysée Palace. The students were all dead, their uprising failed. They had succeeded in sending their transmission: a precious minute or two of footage exposing the president as one of the Colonists. Valjean had watched it later, weary to the core, remembering the blood splattered all over the pristine floors of the Palace as the news channels spun their skilful web of lies.

It was only too easy, after all. After years of supporting the underground resistance, Valjean had known that there were things so outrageous humans would not want to believe them even when the grainy footage of Greys flickered across their own TVs. Now the students were dead, the Colonists were still in place, progressing further with their plans, and he—he had a hybrid daughter, who loved a boy who’d fought with the other students.

He was not surprised at all that Javert came to him that night. He _was_ surprised that Javert came wearing human skin, and that he came in like any visitor might: through the door of Valjean’s small apart in the Rue de l’Homme-Armé. He had half expected that Javert would enter through the window, in his true form.

Instead, Javert looked much as he had during those years in Toulon, although he had aged, just as Valjean had. He still wore his human skin better than any of the Greys Valjean had ever encountered. Still, before, there had always been something unnaturally calm and robotic about him; today, Javert passed for a human better than ever before, his features twisted by an all too human despair.

Valjean smiled sadly when he let him in. Cosette had gone to the hospital where the boy was being treated; Valjean, who had after all delivered him to the doctors there, had pretended to call all the hospitals in the city until he found where the boy was.

It had made his heart ache to see Cosette leave, but he had known that it was for the best. He had given Javert his address, after all. He knew that he’d come.

“You haven’t run.” Javert looked dumbfounded. His silver hair was dishevelled, his eyes wide with an all too human struggle.

Valjean had struggled like that during those long years in Toulon when he’d feared that he’d gone mad, when no one would believe what he told them about the experiments, when he’d spend a month almost convincing himself that it was merely nightmares, hallucinations, some sick trick the guards were playing on him—only to inexorably find himself wheeled back into that underground laboratory again by guards with black eyes and too many teeth.

He knew what it felt like to see your world falling apart around you.

“No,” Valjean said simply. “Where would I run to? And I still think that you—”

“That I won’t do it?” Javert laughed bitterly, his lips half pulled back again in an alien snarl that should feel threatening but didn’t.

“That you want peace. Like I do.”

That caused Javert to stiffen and turn away from him. The shoulders of the man who had held himself so unnaturally stiff for all the years Valjean had known him were now shaking.

A moment later, Javert turned back around, his eyes wide and gone completely black.

Valjean met his gaze calmly, even as Javert approached him. He could see that something had happened—was still happening.

Javert wasn’t like the others, had never been. Or maybe that was just what he’d liked to tell himself. Still, during all those years, Javert had become familiar. 

“You should be afraid of me,” Javert said. “You should be disgusted.”

“I’ve always wondered,” Valjean said mildly, “were you disgusted? I’m not... I can’t be what you’re used to.”

That won him another broken laugh.

“It was duty, Valjean.” Even Javert’s voice sounded strained. “But that isn’t something you understand, I know that. Procreation is a selfish thing for humans. For us it’s... Never mind. Did you know that in my sleeping pod, I had a bot I programmed to look like you? Do you know how many times you spread those smooth, human thighs for me?”

Valjean felt himself flush with shocking force. Now it was he who had to turn away from Javert for a second.

Perhaps he should have been disgusted or outraged. But in truth, the thought of Javert making use of a bot who looked just like him, who gave himself to Javert willingly, caused something inside him to tighten and twist until he was breathless with it.

He’d had no experience of intimacy save for his own hand before the Greys chose him for their experiments. He’d kept chaste since he’d left Toulon; even the thought of baring his naked body to another person was vaguely terrifying.

But Javert had had him uncountable times in the laboratory. He’d had him many more times in the guise of a bot, as he now knew. Valjean thought of that illusion spreading his thighs in invitation, thought of Javert appreciating that sight—enough to find release with it instead of one of his own kind—and found that his hands were trembling and his breath short when he finally turned back around.

“It doesn’t disgust you,” Javert murmured, giving him a sharp glance.

Valjean did not doubt that Javert could see the upheaval inside him. Javert was a Hunter; none of Valjean’s reactions could be a secret to him.

Valjean exhaled. “It doesn’t,” he admitted. “You were the only one of them who didn’t. You must know that.”

Javert gave him another bitter smile. “You’ve never seen the true me.”

Valjean licked his lips, considering.

“Would you let me see you?”

“Will you spread those smooth human legs for me?” Javert asked in return, his lips still curled with irony and a desire he couldn’t quite manage to hide.

Valjean’s heart gave a frightened little thump. He’d never... Never without being strapped down on a metal pallet, without being drugged, his body not his own as the Guard in Black stepped between his legs.

At last he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. No doubt Javert was aware of the rapid patter of his heart as all predators were, but if there was satisfaction in that for him, he didn’t show it.

Instead, Javert looked surprised. For a moment, he hesitated. At last he took a step forward, nodding toward the bed.

Valjean didn’t know why he moved towards it. The students’ plan had failed; the Greys were still in power; the Colonists would continue with their plans.

But perhaps that was why. The world was falling apart all around him. He’d tried the best he could, first as the Mayor who gave shelter to those who escaped the aliens, then as father to a hybrid child.

Now that all of that was over… Perhaps now was the time to revisit those moments strapped down in the laboratory one last time. To know what it was like without drugs. Without being tied and helpless. Without doctors hovering in eager anticipation.

Just him and Javert. And perhaps then, there might be peace. Not for the world. Not for whatever planet the Greys had come from.

But for Javert and him. And was that not how greater things had started? If he and Javert could find peace, then surely so could others.

Shyly, Valjean’s hands moved to his shirt. He did not look at Javert as he slowly stripped. For a moment, the thought of turning around—like this—and looking Javert in the eye seemed almost too much to bear.

But trust had to come from somewhere. Someone had to start and reach out. 

Valjean sat down on the bed, then raised his eyes to Javert’s face at last.

It was easier than he’d feared, he found, when his heart did not begin to race in panic. Without the drugs to muddle his senses and instil an unnatural arousal in him, he could look—truly look—at Javert. Valjean was naked—but he was not tied down. He was still fully conscious.

He could choose this. Choose to put an end to the past and let there be truth between them, just once.

Valjean held out his hand, and Javert, as if pulled forward by a force he did not like, came towards him with slow, unnaturally stiff steps.

“Will you let me see you?” Valjean asked again.

Javert stared at him, then shook his head. “After,” he said. “If you really want it.”

Silently, Valjean inclined his head. “I do.”

It wasn’t a lie. He was scared—but he knew Javert. After what they’d gone through for so many years, he did not think he could be scared of him again.

Javert gave him his monster’s snarl again, one corner of his mouth lifting—but the teeth he revealed were human, and so were his hands that now went to his belt.

His cock was human too, smooth and flushed with blood. After a moment’s hesitation, Javert let his reptilian leather coat fall to the floor as well. Then he came closer, and Valjean, who’d shivered with an emotion he still did not fully understand when he’d heard of Javert’s fantasies programmed into his bot, allowed his legs to part.

Javert drew in a sudden breath. He reached out. His hand came to rest on Valjean’s thigh, then slowly travelled higher.

In the laboratory, touching hadn’t been like this. There had been the metal probe, the numerous onlookers, the memories of many years that had burned itself into his brain like nightmares he could not escape even when waking.

Perhaps it were those same memories Javert wanted to escape from, for he did what he had never done before, save for that final time—and even then Valjean had been tied down and watched.

There was something nearly graceful in the way Javert slid over him, although his movements were still stiff, too abrupt to be entirely human.

His hands slid across Valjean’s chest, and Valjean, surprised at the shiver that ran through him, arched when Javert plucked at a nipple. He could feel Javert against his thigh—very human, very hard.

Javert made a frustrated sound. “Lubricant.”

Valjean realized dizzily that he had not thought of that. This thing, this... It had never involved conscious thought before. It had merely been something that happened to him.

Dimly, he remembered fingers slick with medical lubricant preparing him for the probe. He shook his head to dislodge that image. Javert might not be human—but his body was warm and responsive. There was no cold, sterile metal in this room.

“I don’t...” he said, and Javert made another snarl, this time decidedly less human.

Valjean’s gaze fell upon his nightstand. There was perfume—a gift from Cosette, which he used because it made her happy. There was the book he was reading, and the phone he had not dared to look at since he’d first seen the spin the news had put on the students’ transmission.

And there was also a small bottle of scented oil, another gift from Cosette, to rub into his stiff knuckles in the evenings and mornings, which had started to ache when it got colder.

“That will do,” Javert said and reached out for it.

Valjean watched as Javert slicked the oil over himself. Javert’s teeth were bared and gritted as he spread the golden liquid over the head of his cock. Shivering, Valjean thought again of Javert’s true form—the many sharp teeth, the scaly body. Would Javert be warm? Or would he feel cold and alien between Valjean’s legs?

Javert was warm and human, his skin soft when he moved in between Valjean’s thighs. He rested a hand against Valjean’s skin, and Valjean, remembering Javert’s fantasy, allowed his thighs to spread open for Javert.

The sound that escaped Javert was not entirely human. It made Valjean’s chest tighten, but it wasn’t with dread.

Then Javert pushed forward—and that sensation Valjean remembered. Many years ago, he’d experienced it helplessly, through the haze of drugs, but he’d never forgotten it through all those years: the one time that he hadn’t been penetrated by the probe, but by Javert’s cock.

It was the same sensation now. No cold, hard metal invading him while he was strapped down. Instead, Javert was hot, Valjean’s body yielding to the slick heat of him. There was nothing harsh or foreign about the intrusion, and when Javert sunk fully into him, Valjean found himself gasping, his hand coming up to clutch at Javert’s shoulders.

Javert laughed hoarsely against his shoulder. There was despair in it—but also some of the hunger Valjean himself felt, so alien in its intensity, and yet so undeniably human.

Every thrust made Valjean tighten his arms around Javert, gasping helplessly as his body awoke to pleasure. For the first time, he could feel the heat of arousal as it rolled through him, filling his veins, suffusing his limbs. There were no drugs to turn the experience into half-remembered nightmares, no forced arousal that made it feel as if his aroused flesh was no part of his own, as alien as the Greys staring down at him.

Instead, he felt more awake than ever, surrounded by the sensation of their lovemaking—and if the skin Javert wore was not truly his real form, the scent of his exertion and the salt of his sweat on Valjean’s tongue were real enough.

Pleasure overwhelmed him, but even as he reached down to stroke himself, his body tense and aching and alive with pleasure so sharp it seemed impossible to breathe, he forced himself to keep his eyes open.

The room was familiar, filled with warm light. It was empty, save for him and Javert. At that moment, they seemed to be the only thing that existed, and even his terror that the old nightmares of sterile metal and blinding lights would intrude had fallen away.

There was just Javert—just the sensation of Javert’s skin against Valjean’s own, the scent of him that was strangely hot, like desert air, the movements of his hips, jerky and human. And even though Javert’s eyes were filed by the oily blackness, it was easy enough to read the pleasure in the lines of his face and the twisting of his mouth.

Valjean kept clutching at him, even after they’d both found release. Javert was silent, but did not resist when Valjean hesitantly pulled him down to rest on the bed with him.

He stared at Javert for a long moment, and Javert watched him in return. Javert seemed strangely tired and deflated, as if, with the earlier bitterness gone, there was nothing left but the wounded weariness of a man who’d lost his place in the world.

“Does your kind kiss?” Valjean at last ventured hesitantly.

It had not been what he’d been meaning to say, but it made Javert huff a surprised sound of laughter, and if there was still some bitterness in it, it was also strangely human.

“No,” Javert said. “But your kind does. I studied—”

He broke off again, his face twisting as he closed his eyes. Valjean found himself wondering, breathless and not entirely displeased by the thought, if Javert had practiced kissing his bot.

“My kind does,” Valjean said quietly. “But I don’t. I’ve never...”

“You talk a great deal, Valjean,” Javert said wearily. Then he leaned forward, his hands coming to frame Valjean’s face, and then his mouth was on Valjean’s.

The kiss was somewhat clumsy; Javert seemed more at ease with it than Valjean, but even so it felt alien.

Valjean shuddered, not quite certain whether he liked the sensation, but there was something tight in his stomach again, something fluttering in his chest. When they parted, Valjean’s mouth full of taste of desert air, he found that his arms had come up around Javert’s back to hold him close.

He must have liked it then, Valjean thought, hesitantly licking his lips. He must have...

Javert was staring at him, black eyes giving away nothing of what he might be thinking—but his breath was coming faster, and his scent was more intense now, like arid summer heat, like a rock baking in the desert sun.

It wasn’t unpleasant.

This time, it was Valjean who pressed his mouth to Javert’s, and this time, he consciously raised his hands, ran them across Javert’s broad back, tasting Javert and touching him until he ceased to wonder what was human and what was alien, until there was only the reassuring press of Javert’s body and the warmth of his touch—which in its own way was as alien to Valjean as it had to be for Javert.

***

When Valjean woke, the room was dark. It was his bedroom; the mattress beneath him was familiar, and so was the alarm clock on his nightstand that showed four in the morning.

Valjean blinked tiredly at the numbers, then turned his head to look at the window.

It was only then that memory came flooding back in.

Javert was here, in his bedroom. Javert had been in his bed, had been inside him, had kissed him... And now Javert was standing by the window, so utterly motionless that he could have been a statue, still wearing his human skin and nothing else so that his pale skin shone in the dim moonlight.

There was a gun in his hand he was staring at.

For a moment, still half-asleep, Valjean wondered in bafflement whether he’d brought a gun back from the barricade together with the uniform he’d stolen. Then he realized that it had to be Javert’s gun; Javert would have a weapon, and he had no reason to leave it behind when he came for Valjean at last.

Valjean silently rose and approached. Javert snarled again—that monster’s snarl that failed to put any fear into the heart of Valjean. Javert didn’t resist when Valjean took the gun away from him and put it aside.

“This changes nothing, Valjean.” In the dim moonlight, his black eyes gleamed. “They’re still out there.”

“Yes,” Valjean said. And then, “No. This changes things. You’ve changed things already. I’m here.”

Javert snarled. The sound might have been laughter. “So am I,” he said, and didn’t protest when Valjean took his hand and tugged on it.

“Do you think this changes anything?” he asked when Valjean led him back to the bed.

“For you? For me? Yes,” Valjean said. He reached out again. He pressed his hand against Javert’s chest. Despite everything, there was still a curiosity in him. He stroked Javert’s soft, human skin. “I think that’s enough, for now. It’s all I have the heart left to deal with.”

“That’s not true.” Javert made a soft sound when Valjean ran his hand up and down his chest. “You’re different. Do you know how many of you died in those experiments? You lived. You’ve always wanted to live.”

Valjean thought of the child, of Fantine’s haunted eyes, of the way Cosette’s eyes had filled with tears when she heard that Marius was in hospital.

“I had something to live for. Now... Now, no matter what happens, I think I want to see you.” Javert did not feel alien beneath his hand at all, his skin smooth and human, although perhaps a little too hot and dry. “Will you let me see you?”

Javert laughed noiselessly, although the sound turned into something close to despair.

“All right,” he then said. “Maybe then you’ll change your mind. Maybe then you’ll understand that there won’t—”

“Hush,” Valjean said. “Let me see you. After all these years... You owe me; you and your people.”

“Suit yourself,” Javert said, and Valjean, who had known for many, many years that the Guard in Black was a shape shifter, that the human skin he wore wasn’t his own, who knew about grey scales and teeth, still found his body gripped with the instinctive reaction of prey to the presence of a predator.

Javert’s skin was no longer smooth beneath his touch. Instead, Valjean’s hand pressed against hard scales that gave off heat. 

Javert’s mouth parted and he snarled voicelessly. Despite the shock that had made Valjean freeze, he recognized in it the sound of Javert’s peculiar laughter.

But even with that trace of the familiar, Javert seemed entirely alien as he looked down at Valjean, his eyes the oily black he knew, his body muscular and covered in grey scales, his mouth filled by a multitude of sharp teeth.

Instinct made Valjean shudder at the sight. Still, the chest beneath his palm was warm, alive. 

He’d sometimes wondered what Javert would feel like. Would he be cold and slimy? Would his skin feel rough, would the ridges of his scales slice through Valjean’s soft skin?

Instead, it was not actually unpleasant to touch Javert.

Once, at an activity at the zoo he’d taken Cosette to when she’d been young enough to be endlessly delighted by small animals, an animal handler had let the children hold various reptiles. Cosette had been taken with the snake she’d been allowed to hold, and Valjean, encouraged by the handler, had stroked the reptile’s body.

It had felt strangely muscular. Smooth and firm, like one immensely strong, living muscle.

That was the closest he’d come to the experience of touching Javert’s chest. He felt like that—lean and powerful in a way that was more reptilian than human, but even though everything about him felt shockingly alien, touching him was almost pleasant.

“You feel strong,” Valjean said quietly. Javert was warm, too—much warmer than he’d expected. He smelled like heat, too—like hot sand and stones baking in the sun.

Slowly, Valjean leaned forward, then pressed his mouth to Javert’s scales. They were hot against his lips.

When he drew back, he smiled with relief. “There. Not disgusted.”

Javert laughed again, the predator’s many-toothed smile on his face. Even that was not entirely frightening. Valjean couldn’t say why, but he knew that Javert wouldn’t harm him. Not after everything that had happened.

“Although I understand now why your kind doesn’t kiss.”

“My kind,” Javert said, his voice more sibilant and rough than Valjean was used to, “does many things differently than yours.”

“All of them?”

Valjean’s eyes strayed to Javert’s groin. He could not help himself. Even someone like him, who had lived chastely these many years and had rarely been burdened by desires of the flesh, had wondered sometimes how the Colonists might mate. And of course, given the use they had put him to, perhaps that was only to be expected.

Still, he could not hide his surprise at finding smooth, scaly skin between Javert’s legs—no sight of the human shaft that had penetrated him not so long ago.

There was a ridge of scales there, he saw when Javert moved, spreading his own thighs to let Valjean see. It made Valjean recall Javert’s words about how he had programmed his bot to look like Valjean and spread his thighs for him. Perhaps, for the Greys, with their hard hides, there was a great eroticism in such intimate baring of vulnerable parts.

Javert did not complain, in any case, when Valjean’s hand slowly trailed downward.

They were truly not so unlike. Muscles shifted beneath Valjean’s touch—although Javert had no nipples, no bellybutton. When Valjean’s hand drew closer to the ridge that had aroused his attention, Javert made that hissing sound again—not laughter this time, Valjean thought, feeling strangely breathless himself. Not laughter—not pain, either.

He licked his lips. Then, tentatively, he ran his fingers along the ridge. At his teasing, Javert hissed again and the scales parted. There was a cleft there, Valjean could see now, an opening in the protective, scaly hide. When Valjean slowly explored along it, something abruptly came out of it.

It was like nothing Valjean had ever seen. It was long—much longer than a human’s genitals—and thick. It was not covered in scales. Instead, its colour morphed between the grey of Javert’s body and a strange blue that turned purple at the tip.

The tip was, for lack of a better word, shaped like a closed flower, thicker than the shaft it rested on. It gleamed with a slick secretion that began to run down the shaft—a shaft, which Valjean now began to realize, that was covered in little bumps.

Javert made another of those noiseless laughs. “You’re lucky that it is not a fertile time for me.”

“It’s impressive enough on its own,” Valjean said, mostly because he had to say something, and also because the thing, the... the _penis_, began to move as if it had a mind of its own.

“During our fertile season,” Javert said, as if he relished being the bearer of bad news, “the mating spurs come out.”

“Oh,” Valjean said weakly. He hesitated a bit, his hand hovering over the strange, alien flower that was snaking over his bed. “But right now, you are not...?”

“You can touch,” Javert said. “If you really want to.”

Valjean carefully ran his fingertips over the shaft with its multitude of tiny bumps. It felt alien against his fingers—warm and slick with the fluid dripping from the bud at the tip. The small bumps were hard, but there were no spikes. This felt more alien than Javert’s chest, because he could feel the muscle twist and writhe as if it had a mind of its own beneath his touch.

“It’s not sentient, is it?” Valjean asked, choosing to smile rather than linger on the mental image of spikes pricking his skin.

Javert had no intention of harming him—not after what had already happened. And after the traumatic experiments they’d both been forced to take part in, surely Javert must have given some thought as to the compatibility of alien and human biology.

“No,” Javert said with another snarl. “It’s not sentient.”

As if to prove him wrong, the stalk rose and twisted and turned to curve around Valjean’s thigh.

“Oh.” The sound escaped as little more than a nervous whisper when Valjean felt the slick fluid drip over his thigh.

“Does it scare you?”

Valjean thought back to the countless, horrifying hours he’d spent beneath fluorescent lights, strapped to the metal pallet.

“No,” he said. Alien it might be, but despite its reptilian appearance, there was something reassuring in its warmth. “Do you think…” He paused again, in equal parts intrigued and shocked when the tip began to open, much like a tulip unfurling, until it looked like a strange, purplish-blue trumpet the size of his fist. “It is very big.”

“I have given some thought to it,” Javert said, his smile showing his sharp teeth. “It is compatible with a human such as you.”

Valjean swallowed, lightly running his fingers up the mottled blue-grey length again. The thing shuddered and shifted beneath his touch, the stalk pressing against his palm as the trumpet-shaped flower raised its head. It felt like petting an alien animal: some smooth, slick, snake-like creature that seemed more Javert’s pet than part of Javert.

“I suppose there is enough lubrication provided,” Valjean said with faint humour, watching as a steady stream of fluid dripped from the unfurled tip.

He could not imagine it inside him, the thought was too alien—but in truth, it was not so unpleasant to touch it, even though it kept moving beneath his touch as if it were a creature with a mind of its own while Javert made soft, pleased hissing noises.

“Is that... is that pleasurable?” Cautiously, Valjean petted the alien length as it twisted beneath his touch, worming between his thighs like an organism searching for a place to burrow.

Javert made a hoarse sound in answer that contained no word Valjean knew. Emboldened, Valjean kept stroking the bumpy, muscular stalk as it undulated against him, allowing it to explore between his legs, where it rubbed itself against the muscles of his thigh with surprising strength. Javert made that noise again, and as Valjean watched, the flower-shaped tip suddenly opened even wider. It reminded Valjean of footage of reptiles he’d seen, dragon-like lizards spreading their neck frill to impress a mate.

Despite the strangeness of the situation, Valjean found himself smiling—and then, just like that, copious amounts of liquid gushed forth from the alien flower, a warm burst of fluid that had the sheets beneath him soaked in seconds, wetness dripping down his thighs, his belly and even his chest.

In surprise, he’d stopped stroking Javert, but even so Javert was still making that noise, his black eyes closed, his sharp teeth bared, fingers clenched into the sheet as if he was keeping himself from grabbing hold of Valjean instead.

Javert’s stalk was still questing between Valjean’s thighs—no longer searching a place to burrow, it seemed, but just rubbing itself leisurely against him with undulating movements.

Delicately, Valjean reached out to stroke the open bud with his fingertips, his heart still racing in his chest from the shock of the sudden eruption.

“That is... a lot of liquid,” he said faintly.

Javert laughed in response, his black eyes gleaming. “Yes. Your meagre amounts of sperm displeased our scientists.”

“Yes, well.” Valjean nudged at the questing flower to gently discourage it from nosing at his hole. “It leads to less soaked sheets. Not that I would know.”

Javert chuckled again, but graciously began to retract his stalk—or perhaps the alien beast had decided that with its supply spilled, it was better to retreat into its home than to keep questing curiously at what human openings were available to it.

“It is not to be spilled like this.” Javert made a throaty, chiding noise. “Wasteful. Though given what I’ve turned out to be, there’s not much use for my seed now. Disobedient, traitorous, cowardly DNA. If they bred with me...”

The stalk had almost entirely vanished into the gap between the scaly ridge it had appeared from. The tip had closed once more until it resembled a grey and purple bud, and Valjean watched as Javert reached down and nudged it unceremoniously with his hand to help it retreat completely inside his body.

Then it was gone, and the large, snaking muscle had completely vanished from view, as if it hadn’t slithered towards Valjean and erupted all over him moments ago.

The wetness was still there, though.

Next time, they’d have to put something beneath them first.

Valjean realized with some disbelief that he wasn’t entirely opposed to a next time. In its own way, surely it was no stranger than it would have been to lie here with another human.

He told Javert so, who laughed hoarsely in answer, and then effortlessly morphed back into the human form he had worn for so very long.

“See,” Javert said. “That’s why I’m useless to them.”

“They want hybrids, don’t they?” Valjean murmured. “You... You and I...”

“That’s not what they want. I’ve been infected with human weakness. It’s not at all the same.”

“Not to them,” Valjean murmured. In the light, Javert’s black eyes gleamed like the dark firmament above them. He reached out and touched Javert’s cheek with his hand. “But they’re wrong.”

“Are they?” Javert’s laugh this time was despairing and all too human. “How do you know that you are right?”

“I don’t know,” Valjean said. “How could I? But I know that there have been always others. Others like me, who were saved, who found someone who believed them, who risked everything to uncover the truth. Others like you.”

“Rebels,” Javert muttered. “Traitors.”

“People who want peace,” Valjean said firmly, although he, too, was afraid of what the future might bring.

But for now, Cosette and her secret was safe, and her boy lived, and Javert was here with him.

Javert made another despairing laugh, and then he shook his head. “You negotiate better than any senior officer in his mating season,” he muttered.

Valjean smiled, and this time, there was something fluttering inside his chest that wasn’t quite relief, nor quite relaxation. He hadn’t been able to relax since he had first found out about the Colonists.

Still. There was always hope, wasn’t there? It was all anyone could do. Do what they could, and cling to their hope, and to what was still good in the world.

“I told you,” he said and reached out to rest his hand against Javert’s arm. This time, Javert did not flinch back. “There will always be some of us who aren’t so different.”

And maybe that wasn’t enough to win the war or change the fate of the world. But for tonight, for both of them, surely it could be enough.


End file.
